Fussy McMussy

She looks so sweet and docile, but as I write this a trend is revealing itself nightly between the hours of 5:30pm and 10pm: fussy time. She’s fed? Youbecha. Diaper Changed? Yep. Burped? Roger that – a good one too. Cozy, snuggled-in and warm enough? Of course! Not too warm? Nope. Likes her sleepy outfit? One can only assume.

Currently she is upstairs letting mom have it with rough screams and baby shouts. She’ll sleep a little while, just long enough for you to assume the tide has turned, then she’ll wake red faced and aiming for the war path. She crunches up her face and lets out a wail (more often than not, directly into papa’s ear) and sticks her legs straight out stiff as a poker, back arched, head kicked back, arms writhing. Then it’s back to sleep for a little while, just long enough so you let your guard down. That, or she’ll just pause and stare at something random and 100 miles distant…

It’s probably just something new to keep us on our feet. A dalliance. A passing cloud. Unfortunately, this period in Maeva’s day happens right when papa gets home from work. It seems when you finally get the rules figured out, the game changes, and with it comes a wind storm, which blows away the instructions.

Ah but sweet one. You’ll get through this. You’ll make it through ok. Peace now. Go to sleep. Peace, my little one.